


In Our Stars

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2019-11-25 19:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Perhaps the heavens influence us more ways than we know…Disclaimer: Oh, lordy,sonot mine.





	In Our Stars

**Author's Note:**

> I admit a certain element or two was drawn from recent Twitter conversation…. Also, see N.B. at the end for more information that I don't want to put up here, as it would give story elements away.
> 
> This was my palate cleanser, as it were, before beginning to re-read and edit the v. long, angsty story. Hope you enjoy. ♥

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,  
But in ourselves…"  
—William Shakespeare, _Julius Caesar_ ([Act I, Scene II](http://www.enotes.com/julius-caesar-text/act-i-scene-ii?start=2#jul-1-2-146)). 

* * *

Mark was not usually very welcoming of change. He knew this about himself, accepted it. He had, in the last three weeks, made a very notable exception to this rule: instead of working long hours at the office or going home to eat supper on his own, he diverted his car towards Borough Market in order to spend every free evening with his girlfriend. With Bridget.

Even now he smiled to think of her; he did not know how he could have been so fortunate to win her over. In some ways it felt like a dream from which he could wake at any time.

When he rang the entryphone, she chirped almost instantly for him to come up. When he saw her, he thought perhaps he _was_ dreaming.

"You look nice," he said, realised it was an understatement even as he said it. "Gorgeous," he amended, even though her appearance and her outfit—a lovely, flowing fitted sleeveless blue dress with high heels, her hair swept up and off of her shoulders—just seemed a little over the top for a night in with takeaway. Momentarily he panicked; were they supposed to have been going out? He quickly decided that was not the case when he caught a sumptuous food scent hanging in the air, certainly not like the usual takeaway food. He bent to kiss her; she smelled wonderful, though a different perfume than usual. "What's that I smell?" 

"Trésor," she said brightly. "Do you like it?"

He chuckled. "It's lovely, but I meant dinner."

"Oh, I baked some chicken with new potatoes and carrots."

His only other encounter with her home cooking had not been promising, but something as simple as a chicken should have been easy to do, and it was making his mouth water. "It smells delightful."

She beamed a smile. "Should be nearly done," she said proudly. "Well, come on, set down your things, take off your jacket and relax. Would you like some wine?"

He was beginning to wonder if there was a reason for this odd behaviour. "Sure," he said tentatively. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," she said perkily, coming up to him and undoing his jacket buttons, then running her fingers down over his abdomen before pushing the jacket back and over his shoulders. "Sorry," she said inexplicably, taking her hands away from him. "I'll get you that wine."

"Thank you," he said as he slipped the jacket off all of the way, then draped it over the arm of the chair. As he settled into her very comfortable sofa, he watched the sway of her hips as she walked back towards the kitchen, and could not say that he was unaffected by the sight of it. She was such a naturally sensual person, and so unaware of it that it made her that much sexier.

He watched her reach up for a wine glass. She called over her shoulder, "Is white all right? I got that to go with the chicken."

"That's fine, darling," he replied. "Sure I can't help?"

"Absolutely sure," she said. She uncorked the wine, apologising again when the cork made a loud 'pop', then poured each of them a glass. She walked back towards him with that unconscious slink of hers, then reached out to hand him one, smiling again, her eyes shining under her light fringe.

He took a long draw; it was perfectly chilled and deliciously light and fruity. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said.

He leaned and set down his glass, then reached up and grasped her hips, urging her down to sit across his lap. He plucked the wine glass from her fingers, set it beside his own, then cupped her face in his hand. "Very pleased to see you," he murmured, then kissed her, and not unexpectedly did she reciprocate in full. He ran his hand down over her throat, her bare shoulder and arm before settling in on her waist to pull her up against him. Her fingernails raked through his hair and he shuddered with the pleasure of it. His fingers traced over her arm again, and he realised her skin was icy. "Darling, you're underdressed," he managed, nuzzling into her neck as he hugged her close. "You could catch your death—"

The timer in the kitchen went off just then, and never did he hate a kitchen timer more. "Let me check," she said, pecking little loving kisses on his lips before pushing herself up and off of his lap. The look she gave him as she walked to the kitchen nearly caused him to blurt out to sod the chicken and command her to come back now, but she seemed so intent on her dinner being perfect he realised in that instant that he couldn't do that to her.

"Ooh, it's done," she said, looking to him. "Will you bring the wine to the table?"

He hadn't noticed before, but the table was set beautifully for their dinner together, complete with a bunch of flowers in the centre and a pair of candles that were already lit, and recently so, if he were any judge. Suddenly he wondered if it were some sort of special occasion about which he should have known, but no, they hadn't been together yet a month—

"What's on your mind?" she asked, bearing the serving platter with their dinner, and he had to admit it looked fantastic, too. She set it down, then met his gaze with her own querulous one.

"Just a bit overwhelmed by everything," he said.

"Oh," she said. "It is too much?"

"No, no," he said with a chuckle. "It's wonderful, don't get me wrong, but I'm feeling a bit lost to explain what's prompted this." Sheepishly he added, "I feel like I've forgotten your birthday when I know I haven't."

"No special reason," she said with a smile. "I just thought you'd like it."

"I do like it," he said, then set the wine glasses down and took her into his arms for a little hug. "Thank you."

She indicated he should sit down, and she served him a breast as well as a generous heap of potatoes and carrots. It was, all told, a very fine meal indeed. The portion of chicken was more than adequate, and he had seconds on the potatoes and carrots. For her part she seemed very proud of her efforts; she watched him with great satisfaction over the rim of her glass as she had another sip of wine.

"You've really outdone yourself, darling," he said as he set his fork down. "That was delicious."

"Thank you," she said, an odd mixture of demure and smug lacing her voice. "I've got dessert, too."

"Couldn't possibly think of it yet," he said.

"Later then," she said. "Let's take the wine and relax on the sofa."

He thought it was a very good idea, one he likely would have himself suggested, so he rose and with glass in one hand and the bottle in the other he went to the sofa, sitting where he'd sat before. She sat beside him and held out her glass for a top up.

"To a lovely night in," she said in toast.

"To a lovely woman worth having nights in with," he returned then touched his glass to hers before taking a sip. 

"I'll drink to that," she said, then did just that. She snuggled close to him and kissed him lightly on the lips, holding her glass out of harm's way. "Though in my case, a lovely man, obviously."

He chuckled, turning towards her and slipping his left arm around her shoulders. "Obviously." The feel of her bare skin against his fingers reminded him that she was slightly underdressed for January, so he asked, "Shall I get you a cardigan or light the fire?"

"Mm, the fire," she said, then quickly added, "but I can do that."

"Nonsense; you've done enough tonight." He withdrew his arm, set down his wine, then went to start up the gas hearth; after a moment, he heard her behind him setting down her own glass. 

Once the fire got to burning, he reached to switch off the lamp there in the sitting room before joining her once more. After the dinner, the wine and her company, he felt so content and so happy that he immediately leaned forward intent on kissing her. "Thank you for a beautiful evening, Bridget," he said softly.

"It isn't over yet," she said impishly.

She'd barely gotten the word out when he took her mouth for that kiss, leaning over her where she sat there on the sofa, reaching for her, stroking the skin of her arm, running his hand over her breast. He then pulled her up close to him around the waist and cupping her arse with his hand. Bridget returned each kiss with equal fervour, but did not reach for his trousers as she might have ordinarily done; this perplexed him a little.

"There's no hurry, Mark," she whispered as if to answer his unspoken question. "It's Friday. You can stay over."

"Such a tease," he joked weakly as he ran his fingers down her thigh to the hem of her dress. She reached down and stayed his hand.

"Patience," she chastised. "We have dessert yet."

"I don't want dessert right now." He sat up and saw the look in her eyes, saw that she had a plan for the evening, and saw that his intent to deviate from that plan was upsetting her. Usually it was Mark that did not like to deviate from plans, so the very thought that he did and she didn't made him want to laugh. "However," he said, stroking her face with the backs of his fingers, "everything has its time and place." He kissed her on the lips again then met her gaze with a smile. 

"We could watch a film, if you like," she suggested.

"No," he said. "I think I'd just like to sit here with you in my arms. The fire's enough for me."

She smiled, then nodded. "I like the sound of that."

Bridget nestled into the crook of his arm, splaying her hand on his chest as they sat there together in peaceable silence; at least, it was until the silence went on and he began to think about the reason for her planning this lovely evening. It was true that she didn't have to have a motive at all, but knowing her as he did, he thought it very unlikely that there wasn't one.

"Did you have a nice day at work?" he asked suddenly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, it was fine," she replied.

"No on-camera explosions?" he asked. "Don't need help hiding Richard Finch's body?"

She laughed. "I hardly think an officer of the court would be the first person I'd tell if I committed a crime that serious," she teased. "No, aside from getting a stupid assignment that was cut at the last moment just as I thought it might… it was a very good day, and it's ending in the best way imaginable." She turned and drew her forefinger down over his lower lip. "I'm ready for some dessert, maybe a little decaf. What do you say?"

He agreed that dessert and decaf coffee sounded quite nice indeed.

Bridget smiled then rose to her feet; again he watched her walking away, too mesmerised by her movement to think to rise to help, but then considered that she would only refuse the assistance as she had before. Within moments he could smell the coffee brewing; she must have set the pot up in advance. Mark contemplated what she would have prepared for dessert, and decided whatever it was would assuredly have a chocolate component.

As he sat back into the cushions to contemplate the options, he gazed into the fire; he was not sure how many moments passed before he felt the cushion beside him sink ever so slightly, a hand upon his knee, and he turned to see a tray on the table bearing dessert.

"Sorry, didn't mean to doze there," he said.

"It's all right," she said gently. "Here, I've got your dessert."

To his surprise, there did not seem to be any chocolate involved at all. It was a very delicious-looking apple crumble, and he pressed his fork into it for a generous bite. It tasted as good as it looked. "You made this too?"

She nodded. "Really not very hard," she said, beaming proudly, then took a bite of her own. He surprised himself by finishing off the piece, though it was not a terribly large one to start. As he sipped his coffee, she set her plate and mug down though she was not quite finished, then stood up. "Just be a moment," she said, then smiled and went towards the back of the flat.

He finished the coffee, set the empty mug and plate beside hers, and wondered what was taking so long. "Bridget?" he called. "Everything all right?" She didn't answer. He called her name again.

This time she did respond. "Mark?" she called. "Come here, please?"

He was on his feet in a moment and striding back towards where the loo, where he assumed she'd gone, but glancing in he saw she was not in there. 

"Mark."

She was in the bedroom, which was dim but for a small lamp in the corner. She had taken down her hair and it rested in waves upon her shoulders; her body was clad in a beautiful lacy black nightie, which was stark and sexy given that she still wore the stiletto heels on her feet. She had looked stunning before, but now she looked absolutely beautiful and unfathomably sexy, particularly with the sultry smile touching her lips. Without thought he rushed up towards her, running his hands over her hips to embrace her around the waist simultaneous to tilting his head to kiss her, but she reared back, evading him.

"Hold on," she said in a low tone. She then reached to loosen his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and drew it as well as his undershirt from him. She then undid his belt and his trousers, slipping them and his boxers down gently over his hips. She was being uncommonly calm, taking her time with each item, which was on its own as alluring as it was maddening… but very unlike her usual 'pounce and throw down onto the bed' modus operandi. 

She met his gaze with her own. "Lie down."

Puzzled, he did as she asked and she sat beside him before stretching alongside him. "Relax," she said, which had rather the opposite effect; he felt wound as tightly as a coil waiting to see exactly what was to happen next. "I don't want to startle you," she whispered. He had no idea what this was supposed to mean, or from where her unexpected source of domestic divinity had sprung. She lifted her hand, touched the pads of her fingers to his skin, which caused him to twitch; she then ran her fingers down along his sternum before tracing a slow, methodical circle around his navel. Once this circle was complete she did another just outside the first one, then another after that.

As nice as her light touch felt, this was all very curious, and the sum total of it all convinced him more than ever that something was really wrong. Had she been fired from work? Had she gotten word of a terminal medical condition earlier that day? Was—

"Bridget," he said abruptly. "Are you in trouble of some kind?"

The sudden sound made her jump. "What? No!" she said, furrowing her brow, then quickly said in a more placid tone, "Sorry. Did I do something to scare you?"

He did not understand why she suddenly seemed so concerned about scaring or startling him, and felt his worry turning quickly into amusement at her unconventional thought patterns. "What in the name of arse are you going on about?" he asked.

She pouted, drawing her hand back. "You don't have to be that way," she said, and she sounded quite offended. "I would have thought you'd be pleased by the effort."

He pushed himself upright, willed himself to a place of serenity even though he did not yet feel it. "If the effort was to baffle me, you have quite succeeded," he said. "What's going on? What's this about?" At her astounded look, he said in a milder tone, "Whatever it is you've done, you can tell me everything. I'll stand by you and help you."

"Unbelievable!" she said, then reached for a pillow and threw it at him. "So like a Virgo of you!"

"Virgo? What does that—" And then the penny dropped; this was the first inkling of a clue to her motivations. "Is this somehow related to the stars in the dailies?"

She bristled. "As a matter of fact, it is."

"Nonsense," he said. "Why do you waste your time with such things?"

Instantly he realised it was exactly the wrong thing to say. He saw her lips curl into a pout. "Because I wanted to make you happy."

"Oh, Bridget," he said, immediately regretful, then reached to take her into his arms. "You already make me happy."

She was evidently stunned into silence, at least long enough to forget her offence and return the embrace. "So your stomach is not an erogenous zone?"

He understood the traced circles now, and lightly chuckled. "If you mean by filling it with delicious food," he whispered, "absolutely." At this she giggled too, and he was glad to hear it. "Actually," he said, his voice dropping down, "I very much liked the feel of your fingers drawing on my stomach before."

She drew back, scrutinising his features, then smiled tenderly. "So," she asked, "have you ever felt startled? I mean in bed?"

At this he burst out with a laugh. "Please," he said, "I beg you, tell me exactly what the stars said!"

### Earlier that day

Bloody Richard Finch.

Bridget would swear if asked that her boss gave her impossible assignments intentionally. How in the world was she supposed to pull together a story on midgets who had done spying during the second World War? It was like he was trying to bore her on purpose, or that he was giving her busy work to keep her out of trouble, and she could almost guarantee he would cut the segment by the end of the day.

Well, she had a response to that.

She opened a new tab on her web browser—she was nothing if not increasingly savvy about covering her tracks, and could easily close the tab revealing the actual research, such as it was—and began typing in the URL to her favourite horoscope site. 

"Scorpio," it advised, "the alignment of the stars indicates it's a good time to take a bold step forward. Be daring—more daring than usual, that is."

"Hmm," she said quietly. She then clicked through to Mark's.

"Dear Virgo," said the daily, "be ready for anything; though you usually don't like surprises, this one will be worth it. Promise."

The corner of her mouth curled up in a smile. 

On a whim she surfed through the page about his sign, and was a little startled at how accurate it seemed to be, particularly the section on _What It's Like to Date a Virgo Man_ : "He likes a woman who stirs his emotions because he is reluctant to express his own emotions, which he tries and this often causes conflict not just inside himself, but it spills out into the relationship. This man takes patience and understanding."

_Understatement of the century_ , she thought with amusement. 

The next part made her feel a little uneasy, however: "He needs a classy woman who is not impulsive or unconventional. He leads a predictable life and a predictable woman will make him feel safe. He is perfect for the down-to-earth, conventional woman. He won't be romantic and sweep you off your feet, but he will be by your side and be very loyal."

"It's bollocks anyway," she muttered, though not entirely convinced. "Mark's romantic."

She kept reading though, coming to the part about erogenous zones, and she was even more surprised than before. "The stomach area is very sensitive to Virgo. Stroke it, circle their belly button with your finger, give them a light belly massage. This makes them feel warm and will help open them up a little bit. Be gentle, no sudden moves or vicious acts like biting or slapping, this will startle them and cause them to retreat."

_Belly massage?_ she thought as a giggle escaped her, but as she kept reading on _Sex with Virgo_ , her giggles faded: "Expect sex to be direct and straightforward, no fancy moves, places or games. Virgo is not a highly sexed zodiac sign and does not place much importance on it, if anything they consider sex to be gross and dirty."

This was red-alert, nuclear siren serious; in thinking over their relatively new relationship, had she been too aggressive, startling him, causing him to retreat into his cave in the manner of a Martian, bouncing back like a rubber band? She knew she was mixing her theologies, but it hardly mattered. She was more determined than ever to overcome the misfortune of being born under the sign he'd been.

………

He couldn't laugh, as amusing at it was; he was far too touched at the effort (albeit misguided by the stars) she had made on his behalf. He reached his hand up and stroked her cheek. "Darling," he said. "By that reckoning, my misfortunes are great indeed." He looked deeply into her eyes, drew a finger down over her lower lip. "Forget all of that… and just do what feels good."

"Mm," she assented, then parted her lips and leaned forward to kiss him, delicately at first, teasing with her tongue before placing her mouth over his and kissing him deeply, properly. He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, pulling her across his lap, running his hand over her thigh and arse, then pressed his fingers into her skin. She sighed, then broke the kiss, meeting his gaze again as she scrambled up onto her knees. She then straddled his lap, and, still up on her knees, she drew reached down and pulled her nightie up over her head, tossing it away, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy pants and the shoes. She then looked down to him, her blue eyes burning, her hair loose on her shoulders.

"This is what I'm talking about," he murmured, then ran his hands up her thighs, to her hips, up to her waist to run his fingers over her breasts before encircling her waist and drawing her close enough to place his lips on her abdomen. With his hands on her arse again, he snaked out his tongue, then began tracing circles around her navel. She swayed forward into him, her fingers suddenly in his hair, drifting to his shoulders.

With his hands on her waist again, he urged her to lower herself down, kissing a trail along her skin, up between her breasts as she sat; when she did, he nuzzled into her neck, biting her lobes gently, before kissing her on the mouth again. She returned that kiss in full; her arms went around his neck, nails grazing on his shoulders as her chest pressed up against his. His fingers traced down the valley of her spine to the thin band of her pants, then back up again. She pushed her hips forward and into the firmness there. It was his turn to gasp, and he wished he'd thought to dispatch with those pants prior to engaging with her in this way, because he wanted her very badly. He tugged down on the elastic, though with her position it would have been impossible to work them off.

She seemed to sense this. "Just tear the bloody thing off," she gasped, grinding into him in a very maddening way before lifting up again slightly. He tugged again, harder this time, heard the tearing of thread and fabric, then finally they came free from her. She made a sexy sound as they did. He tossed them aside.

Her hand came down between them; he groaned as her fingers touched him. She moved ever so slightly, lifting her hips once more as she stroked him, causing him to shudder, before drawing herself to him and descending upon him. They both groaned as she did. To surround himself with her so completely—her arms around his neck and shoulders and her fingers pressing into his skin as she moved up and down in directing her own pleasure, her hair brushing his skin so tantalisingly, her breath hot on him—drove him so utterly wild that he found himself quickly on the verge of climax. His fingers grasped her hips, driving her down hard on him. It was when she resumed her kiss, the light caresses of her tongue, the feel of her teeth on his lips biting down a little harder than expected, that brought his culmination quickly and powerfully.

From the way she was whimpering and continuing to rock on his hips, it was clear she was close to climax too, but needed a little extra something to push her there. With one hand, he cupped one of her breasts then placed his lips upon it, then grazed his teeth on the hardened point of her nipple; with the other he reached between the and drove his thumb hard into that knot of nerves.

"Oh!" she muttered, bucking forward. With another two or three such applications of this delightful pressure, she clutched his shoulders, groaned, and came.

"Oh," she said again, this time in more of a sigh than an exclamation, as she fell forward to take him into her arms, giving him a long, slow kiss, combing her nails through his hair. "And here I was supposed to be treating you," she said.

"You did, darling." He returned her embrace, running the pads of his fingers over the bare skin on the small of her back, then over her backside, reminding himself what exactly he had done to render her this way, and felt ashamed; it was not particularly gentlemanly of him. "Sorry for tearing your pants."

"Don't apologise," she managed, still breathing unsteadily. "Hated those things. Really dug in."

This made him chuckle, and he held her tightly to him around the waist. With her still in his arms he rested back against the pillow then turned slightly so that they were resting side by side. He kissed her again on the mouth, then once on the tip of her nose, making her smile. She laid her head beside his on the pillow, and they held one another, their respective breaths slowing, their pulses returning closer to normal with every passing minute.

"But you did like it?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"What, that?" he returned. "I always do. Very much."

"Well, I'm glad, but no, I meant this." She drew her fingers down over the mat of hair on his chest, down to his stomach, where she proceeded with the light circles around his navel. Now that he was no longer puzzled by her intent, he could relax into it; he liked it very much, and told her so, not so much with words but rather a pleased sound. "So, do you admit that the stars might have something to them?" she asked teasingly.

"It's bollocks," he murmured, thinking that he very much preferred this impulsive and unconventional woman over a so-called 'classy' one; his eyes fluttered closed with every ever-widening circles. "But it doesn't mean you can't still be inspired by them."

"How like you," she said with amusement in her voice, "to hedge your bets."

"I'm not," he insisted. "You're not a Virgo, and I wager that if I were to do that to you, you'd still like it— _ah_ —very much indeed." The pause in his speaking was her fingertip reaching especially tender skin. "Shall I prove my point to you?"

He did not give her a chance to answer; he opened his eyes, turned back towards her, then reached to push her shoulder back so that she was flat on the bed. He then raised his hand and began drawing similar circles on her. She did not react in the way he expected at all; not only did she not show any signs of dizzying pleasure, but she actually began to giggle.

"I'm ticklish," she said.

He drew his hand away. "So what is the… what are you again?"

"Scorpio."

"What's the alleged Scorpio erogenous zone?"

She smirked, raising a brow. "Guess."

"That's rather obvious, isn't it?" he asked. "Isn't that true of anyone?"

"But Scorpio is the most sexually charged of all the star signs," she said with a completely straight face. "It's only logical." She thrust her chin up, not releasing his gaze. "You're welcome to test the theory out," she said.

"But you're already—" he stopped, though with the way her brows drew together it was evident she knew what he was going to say.

"I won't be for long if you continue with that sentence."

He chuckled, then brushed his fingers over her breast and hip. She made a lovely little purring sound; he was apparently forgiven. He then drew his fingers over her thigh, then upwards on her legs, which she obligingly parted.

"There you are," she breathed, then exhaled sharply as he touched the tender skin of her inner thigh. Feather-light he continued upwards, teasing a fingertip over her. She bit down on her lower lip, arching her head back. He was not convinced, however, that this reaction was especially reserved for Scorpios, particularly one who had just engaged in a rather rousing round of sex.

He also considered, though, his previous partners, both of whom had birthdays near his own… and their own tepid passions in bed. If belief in being a Scorpio allowed her to embrace her sexuality, to encourage his own, who was he to discourage her?

He increased the pressure, sliding his fingers up and down, back and forth, causing her to gasp and writhe again. "Mark," she managed. "Oh, God, _yes_."

His own arousal was building quite rapidly, but she was not watching him, so he decided to have a little fun. He took his hand away and said in a rather business-like tone, "Well, I suppose I see your point."

Her eyes flashed open. "Don't you dare—" she began, then saw the state he was in and stifled a smile. "You bastard."

"I am, aren't I?" he asked quietly, then leaned over her, kissing her, returning his fingers to their previous task, eliciting many soft, sexy sounds and much encouragement for more. He quickly acquiesced to her request, pushing her legs apart further; he moved into place over her, then drove forward and into her.

At this she moaned quite loudly and throatily; from beneath him he could feel her arching upwards to meet his thrusts. One thing she was not was unenthusiastic; this was something he quite appreciated. Something he quite loved.

Their movement continued with ever increasing rapidity, and before long, between her cries, the way she clutched to him, the very feel of her around him, it was obvious she reached culmination. Not long after, his climax took him very much by surprise, so much so that he cried out too as every muscle went taut arching into her.

He didn't remember dropping down to the bed beside her, didn't quite remember gathering her up into his arms, but the next thing he knew he was plying her with kisses, pushing her hair back and out of her face. "Darling," he rasped.

She sighed happily, then dropped back to rest on the pillow, lifting her hand to trace her fingers over the lines of his face.

"Will you take me at my word now," he said, "that there's nothing in this arena that needs the least bit of improvement?"

She smirked, then blinked slowly. "Perhaps," she said, then glanced down towards his midsection. She shifted, reaching for him again, and wholly accidentally (or at least he hoped it was) kicked him in the shin.

"I take that back," he said with a grimace. "There's one thing that could change."

She looked confused.

"You really need…" he began slowly, "to take those bloody shoes off now."

At that she began to laugh as she slipped them off and threw them aside. She then curled up close to him again. "I could kiss it better," she said. "Who knows, could be an erogenous zone the stars know nothing of."

"You are welcome to try," he said with a smile; he knew any spot on which she placed her lips could automatically become one.

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> In the 'flashback' section, the Scorpio and Virgo horoscopes were made up by me. The section where I refer to _What It's Like to Date a Virgo Man_ , _Sex with Virgo_ and the bit about the erogenous zones (for Virgo and Scorpio) both were taken from the links below.
> 
>   * [Virgo Astrology](http://zodiac-signs-astrology.com/zodiac-signs/virgo.htm)
>   * [Scorpio Astrology](http://zodiac-signs-astrology.com/zodiac-signs/scorpio.htm)
> 



End file.
